Playing Cards
by InvisibleMeatball
Summary: Freddie thinks that it’s pretty ironic that Carly is tackling him to the ground mere hours after he came to terms with the fact that he doesn’t like her anymore." In which Freddie likes Sam, Sam tries to humiliate him for it, and Gibby's..Gibby. Complete!
1. Freddie

Freddie thinks that it's pretty ironic that Carly is tackling him to the ground mere hours after he came to terms with the fact that he doesn't like her anymore.

"WELL?" Carly yells, pinning his arms to the floor in a way that would have made him feel lightheaded and lovestruck a year ago.

It's not like he isn't used to these deeply ironic and frustrating things happening to him; they happen all the time. Still, right about now he's wishing he still had the willingness to just lean up and kiss her, as it would've seemed perfect timing before.

"I don't… know…" He squirms, trying to roll out from under his friend.

Carly seems to realize she's being way more aggressive than she has to, and stands up. "Oh, come on," she whines, offering to help him up. He declines. He rather likes it on the floor. Besides, when Carly can tackle, she can tackle. Freddie massages his ribs inconspicuously. "There's got to be _someone_ you like now that it's not me."

She says this like Sam would say, '…now that you've given me all your leftover beef ribs.' She says this like Spencer would say, '…now that you've turned Australia into a land of fudge.' Like his mom would say, '…now that you've cured the common cold.'

She says this like it's a wonderful, freeing thing for the both of them.

Which, it almost is.

Freddie lies on the ground and cracks his pinky finger absentmindedly. "Not really…"

Carly pouts. "Not even Thalia, from Home Ec?" He shakes his head. "Lauren, that girl we had on iCarly last week? Ooh, how about Maria, that girl who gave you her number at the Mexican cheese place?"

"Not really," he repeats.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Carly says, batting her eyelashes. "Fredieee…"

"Well…" he relents.

She throws a beanbag on the floor next to him and does a nosedive into it so she can see his face better while he reveals all.

"You know…" Freddie studies the ceiling and sees they've had work done. "You know…" he repeats.

"No, I don't," Carly says.

He scratches his neck and admires the new tile work. Then he mutters it so quietly Carly stares at him expectantly before she realizes what he's said: "…there's Sam…"

"WHAT?"

* * *

**oh hey i'm back. i like this story. i hope you do too.**

**bye.**


	2. Sam

Sam is having a perfectly normal day, which of course means by seven at night she's close to the lethargic state of boredom. It's not like she's unhappy with her life, it's about as good as it gets while one is on probation, but Mama needs a little spice in her life, she feels. If the police don't get that, that's their problem.

She laughs at Dwight on The Office, and glances over at Carly to make sure she's gotten the joke. Sometimes Carly doesn't quite grasp the That's What She Said jokes. Sam feels you should never explain a That's What She Said joke, but Carly often makes that necessary.

However, this particular Wednesday night, Carly does not seem in need of an explanation of certain sexual humor. No, tonight, the brunette is simply sitting on the couch, regarding Sam in an odd manor.

Sam mutes the TV as it goes to commercial. "What's up?"

She blinks, as if startled out of a daze. "Nothing. Nothing."

Sam tugs her long blonde hair into a ponytail, and she knows her hair's all bumpy at the top, but she doesn't care. "Please, don't give me that bullchiz, you've been staring at me ever since I got here to spend the night."

Carly bites her lip. "Nothing."

The blonde gives her a look.

"I know something…" she starts. "It's weird."

"Then tell me," Sam says idly, already bored with the conversation.

Carly groans. "But it involves you."

"All the more reason to tell me."

"But they made me promise not to tell."

"But I won't tell that you told."

"I don't know that for sure."

"Me neither, just tell me!"

"No!" Carly huffs and un-mutes the television. They've already missed the first joke after the commercial break. This upsets Sam even more, whose insecurity is already starting to break through, but she keeps quiet throughout the whole night about the incident.

The two girls are crawling into Carly's purple queen-sized bed, ready to go to sleep, when Carly cracks.

"Freddie's in love with you," she blurts, loudly and quietly at the same time.

Sam lies on her stomach and doesn't respond. She'd like to say she feels there is no proper reply to those words other than projectile vomiting and prompt suicide, but instead her palms start to sweat and her heart races nervously. Like she's been expecting? dreading? this, but still doesn't know what to do now that it's happened.

"Sam, did you hear me?" Carly's worried.

"What?" she croaks. She'd give anything for Carly to be lying.

"I… he said he likes you…" her friend repeats, sounding like she wishes she hadn't told her. "Don't freak out, okay, I mean, it's okay, it's kinda cute, in a way, he'll probably get over it, you know? I didn't mean 'in love with,' just 'likes.'…I think."

Sam sits up, clearing her head. "…Carls, I think we can have some fun with this."

"Sam…" Carly groans. "No. NO. We are NOT manipulating our friend's feelings like this. He deserves better and you know that. I don't want a part in this, Sam. No, Freddie isn't going to be treated-" She probably says more, but the blonde's stopped listening, lost in thought.

Sam feels she's found the little spice in her life.

* * *

**i've always thought sam would want to humiliate freddie for liking her, ****even if she liked him back.**

**anyway, thanks for the reviews! brightened up my morning considerably.**


	3. Gibby

Gibby doesn't even like enchiladas.

He comes to this realization as he takes a big bite of his fourth one from the school cafeteria. Sure, the quality of Ridgeway's Thursday enchiladas are relatively pretty good, but he's not crazy for the meal in general.

He regrets eating three other enchiladas and worries if his stomach will be able to handle so much spice.

Pushing his plastic tray to the side, Gibby looks around at his friends. He's too full to voice his thoughts aloud, so he wonders if anyone will understand his silent pantomimes, asking if anyone wants his last one.

For some reason not even Sam has noticed the unwanted spicy burrito. Instead she, Freddie, and Carly are simply making concentrated small talk that seems to be veiling some hidden turmoil not one of them wants to talk about.

Oh, yes, Gibby is very advanced in the field of psychology. He prides himself in that.

"I don't know, Sam," Carly is saying. "It seems kind of risky to have the sack of corn flour drop that many stories into the street without hitting someone."

"But that's the beauty," Sam retorts, shoveling her sixth enchilada into her mouth as she talks, which isn't as disgusting as it seems. "You never know what or who it'll hit. And every week we can drop a different object, like a giant Pez dispenser or a weasel or a Harry Potter book. Oh, or all three at the same time."

Freddie rolls his eyes.

Carly purses her lips. "I'm starting to think this segment idea is just an excuse for you to be violent, Sam."

Gibby decides to add his input, "Yeah." He belches instead.

Sam scowls. "It is _not_. Freddie'll back me up, right, Freddie?" Everyone turns to look at Freddie, who is chewing his apple slowly.

He swallows. "Uh, no," he says, and takes another bite from his Granny Smith. He hums a little to himself and looks around the cafeteria mindlessly, ending his part of the conversation.

Sam actually looks momentarily stunned at the blatant offense. She turns to Carly imploringly, as if the brunette had lied to her or something. Carly just shrugs and looks guilty.

Gibby tries to piece together what exactly happened with his expansive knowledge of psychology. He fails and offers Sam his enchilada. She accepts.

"Why not?" Sam presses the issue, poking Freddie in the side. "Don't you-" She corrects herself. "Aren't you, like, my friend or something?"

"The Order of the Phoenix could kill someone from the eighth floor," Freddie says, "so, no, I'd rather you not do that." He goes back to humming.

Gibby feels the urge to take of his shirt, so he does. No one even blinks.

"I don't even like enchiladas," he says.

"Then why'd you eat, like, forty?" Sam says, bluntly, still glaring at Freddie.

"I… I don't know," Gibby frowns. "Maybe… Maybe my brain is getting revenge on my stomach for that slushee I drank last week that gave me a brain freeze." His bare stomach rumbled. "And I now get the feeling my stomach is plotting comeuppance by-"

"Gibby," Sam says. "Shut up."

* * *

**ugh, i'm arguing with my miley-loving friend right now about miley's new single, can't tame me, i think it's called. imo, it's the stupidest song i've ever heard, and that's including tik tok. my friend's all "it's widening her fanbase!" whatever.**

**sorry, you don't care, bye.**


	4. Fredward

Freddie is neither the expert on girls nor the most observant person in the world, but he can't help but notice that Sam is seemingly obsessed with him Thursday. She's followed him around and asked him lots of questions and seems to be waiting for something, but what, he doesn't know.

"Hey, Freddo," she says in study hall. "Wanna play cards?"

The teacher is notoriously apathetic, so he agrees, starting to push his desk closer to hers to make a bigger playing surface. She beats him to it, ramming her small desk into his and scooting closer than she needs to be. He blinks, confused.

She shuffles and deals out two stacks of five quickly, the familiar layout for Speed. As she divides the rest of the cards into two piles, Freddie decides to take a risk and start a conversation.

"Are you okay?" He starts out with a safe question, watching her fingers swiftly sort the playing cards.

"What? Oh, I'm as fine as you can be at school," Sam mutters, laying the last two cards, a King and a three, face up on the desk. "Go."

Freddie picks up his first five cards and quickly lays down a Queen, a Jack, and a ten on top of the King. Sam, of course, has already gone through a hand and a half. She was always good at this game.

"No," he says, putting down two more cards as fast as he can. "You've kinda been stalking me toda-oh, damn, I was gonna put my ace there, I hate you."

Sam grins without looking up and puts another four cards down speedily. "I haven't been stalking you."

"Yeah, you have," he argues. "Oh, I can't go, can you?"

The blonde scowls. "No." Freddie doesn't know if she was disagreeing with his comment or answering his question or both, but they play a dummy hand anyway. Sam grimaces. "Still can't go."

Freddie tentatively puts down one card and draws his last one of his stack. "People think you like me or something," he says, but by 'people,' he means himself.

Sam looks up, startled. "What? But I'm just try-" she cuts off abruptly. "I… ew, why?"

Freddie sees an opening he didn't see before and lays all five of his cards down in one swift move. "Speed."

"What? No! Again," Sam demands, already shuffling the cards. Freddie hopes she'll stay on the topic. She doesn't.

* * *

**god, i hope you know what card game i'm talking about. otherwise, holy sheet, confusing much? it's kind of like blink and it's a variation of spit. so yeah. you're either going, "what the hell is she talking about 0_o" or "ohhh right." or "why is she still going on about this? god, it's just a card game."**

**p.s. that miley song is called 'can't be tamed,' not 'can't tame me.' excuuuuse me.**


	5. Samantha

Sam doesn't really know why, but this whole thing with Freddie is starting to become an obsession.

"Why won't he just tell me?" she rants to Carly and Spencer Thursday night as they play Bullshit with Sam's worn playing cards. "I mean, he didn't have any trouble telling Carly!"

Spencer pauses. "Who?" he asks, as Sam had just randomly started talking in the middle of a different conversation about Justin Bieber.

Carly rolls her eyes. "Two Aces," she says as she puts two cards down on the stack. "Freddie likes Sam." Spencer's face after being told this is indescribable.

"And we were playing Speed in study hall and he's all 'Why are you all obsessed with me today?'" Sam mimics as she throws a card in the general direction of the pile. "One two." She takes a sip of her iced tea. "He's the one obsessed with _me_!"

"Two threes," Spencer plays his turn, to which Carly replies, "Uh, B.S."

Spencer grumbles and takes the whole pile, caught in his lie.

"One four," Carly says. "Sam, you need to calm down. He's going to know I told you if you keep it up."

"Three fives," Sam lies through her scowl.

"One six," Spencer says proudly.

"It's freaking irritating!" Sam suddenly starts her rant up again, startling her friends. "The nub should just ask me out so I can crush his dreams and he can-"

"Two sevens," Carly interrupts quietly.

"-stop giving me this bullchiz," Sam continues.

Carly groans and pulls the stack towards her. "UGH! How'd you know?"

Sam decides not to tell her she didn't; she was still ranting about Freddie. "Mama knows. One eight."

"Maybe he's scared to tell you," Spencer volunteers. "One nine."

"Well, yeah, but that's not what's bugging me," the blonde explains. "It's that… I don't know… he's able to lie so well to my face." She makes a face.

"Maybe we should get him to play Bul- I mean, B.S.," Spencer muses, trying not to say the real word in front of Carly.

"Lame joke," Sam says.

"Your face," Spencer mumbles.

"One ten," Carly says.

"Bullshit," Sam replies, having four tens in her hand.

"I know." Carly looks away, reaching for the stack.

* * *

**a little bit of cussing, but it's the name of the goddamn game. oh wait.. um the author's note doesn't count in terms of ratings, k?**


	6. Gibson

Gibby likes to think that if his career as a teen psychologist ever fell through, he would make an excellent spy.

Granted, this moment right now is the only spy-worthy moment he's had in three years, and it's kinda lame, but still.

The way-too-loud-for-one-in-the-morning ringtone ends as Freddie finally finds the talk button, and Gibby tenses in his sleeping bag, ready to eavesdrop.

"Hello?" Freddie mumbles sleepily.

"Fredward!" Gibby hears Sam's familiar, bored voice ring throughout the silence of Freddie's room. Gibby perks up, remembering how weird Sam was acting today at lunch, and rolls over silently, trying to get a better earful. The only reason he can hear what Sam's saying is that Freddie had the volume up on his phone, and the darkness had sharpened his hearing.

"Uh, hi, Sam," Freddie murmurs. "Can you kinda keep it down? Gibby's spending the night and he's asleep."

"Yeah, whatever," Sam says. "Listen, me and Carly and Spencer are playing B.S., you wanna play?"

Gibby hears sheets rustling as Freddie rolls over."I wanna, but Gibby'll probably freak if he wakes up and I'm not there."

Gibby mouths "No I wouldn't!" to himself. Then, "Okay, maybe I would."

"Ugh, lame-o. He's not coming," Sam announces to assumingly Spencer and Carly. "What?"

There's a long pause and Gibby guesses Sam is talking to the Shays.

"Ugh!" Sam finally says to Freddie. "They're going to bed!"

"That sucks," Freddie says quietly. "But shhh."

"Sorry," Sam says, not adjusting her volume. "So… what's up?"

"Uh, nothing, you?"

"Just sitting alone at the table with my iced tea. …Have you noticed Carly and Spencer haven't had any meat in their fridge for the past week?"

"No," Freddie says. Gibby gets the feeling his friend is smiling.

"It's horrible." A pause. "Hey."

"What?"

"So… remember how Carly started the whole 'we-tell-each-other-everything' thing?" Sam sounds bored and tired.

"Yeah…?"

"I dunno… I'm just kind of sick of it… Are you?"

"Completely," Freddie says. "Some secrets are just, y'know, better keeping to yourself."

"I know, right. I mean, I'm not going to tell Carly that I'm failing English, she's going to make me get a tutor or something even though I have a plan to pass it."

"You're failing English?" he laughs. "I didn't know it was possible to fail Ms. Hanson's class. She gives A's to everyone."

"Shut up. But, like, has Carly made you tell her anything lately? She made me tell her that it was me who poisoned those seahorses at the aquarium…"

"Yeah, she made me tell her something," Freddie says quietly, apparently remembering Gibby and lowering his voice.

There's a pause, like Sam's waiting for more. "Like…?"

"Like none of your business," Freddie says.

"Oh, come on."

"Nope. …Hey, I got to go." He hangs up before Sam can say anything and throws his phone over the edge of his bed. It hits Gibby in the leg.

Gibby takes a breath, puts two hands gently on the side of Freddie's bed, and pushes himself up stealthily to see what his friend's doing. Freddie is lying still, staring at the ceiling, with a grimace on his face, and Gibby slinks back down into his sleeping bag quietly.

He isn't sure if he likes being a spy anymore. It's rather boring.

* * *

**okay this one i don't like as much.. but whatever.**

**i have the office playing on hulu dot com on another tab and erin's screaming at andy so. bye.**


	7. Fredalupe

Freddie is kinda sick of Sam by next Tuesday. For the past five days, she's been wearing tighter clothing around him and flirting. He'd like to say it's because she likes him, but she doesn't. He knows this simply because the signs that a girl's not interested have become extremely familiar to him over the years. Ruling that out just makes things more confusing, however.

Spencer approaches Freddie Tuesday. It's after iCarly rehearsals and the girls are washing off the body glitter they used for their Twilight parody (Sam was Edward, Carly was Jacob, and Freddie was Bella).

"I hear you have a certain thing for a certain lady," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Freddie narrows his eyes uncertainly. "Sorry?"

"I hear you like Sam," Spencer says.

"Oh," Freddie says. "Who told you that?"

Spencer seems to realize he's messed up. "Uh, a little bir-"

"Spencer."

"Carly," he admits.

Freddie groans. "Great. I bet she told Sam, too."

"No," Spencer immediately backtracks. "No, Sam has no clue."

"Are you sure?" Freddie sees Sam coming down the stairs out of the corner of his eye and immediately changes course. "Spencer, for the last time, there is no mole on the back of your neck."

Spencer actually catches on for once and turns around swiftly. "Are you sure?" he says, reaching up to his neck. "I swear I can feel something…"

Sam grabs an apple and bites into it hungrily. Freddie watches, enraptured. "What are you two dorks doing?" she asks through a mouthful of chewed up snack,

"Spencer thinks there's a mole on his neck," Freddie's voice breaks a little as he watches some apple juice dribble down Sam's chin. "There's… not. Um, I have to go… Tell Carly bye…"

He stares at Sam's mouth for a moment longer before walking out, grabbing his own apple on his way out.

* * *

**that doesn't have to be sexual if you don't want it to be. e.e i just realized now how it looks. but it didn't mean to be. k.  
another filler chapter, they're made to read as one, i guess, but it's too long to have as just one.  
anyway, i checked ****my email today and i had like six favorites and i was happy. :) so there.**  
**next chapter is the climax. (did i use that right..? whatev.)**


	8. Samuela

Sam is completely sick of Freddie's lying ways by Wednesday, the third day she walks home with him from school. She's starting to think Carly is pranking her.

"…so then I plugged it in the USB port and dragged the My Documents shortcut into the F: drive and it worked fine," Freddie rambles on about the A/V club as Sam dies of boredom. "But when I tested it on a different computer, it just opened up _that_ computer's documents. So I explained to the rest of the guys that-"

"Freddie," Sam seethes. "Shut. Up."

Freddie looks stunned for a second, but gets over it. "No need to be rude, demonhair."

Sam takes a deep breath and tries to count to ten. She gets to two and loses it. She pins him against the nearest building's wall and screams, "LOOK MAN. JUST ADMIT IT ALREADY AND I WON'T BEAT YOU INTO A PULP."

His eye twitches. "Uh, what?"

"YOUUU," she says slowly, poking him in the shoulder. "LIIIIKE… MEEE…"

"What?" He swallows.

Sam hits herself in the forehead and lets go of him. "Anghhh. …Carly told me, okay!?" she admits harshly.

Freddie's eyes widen as he realizes everything. "Uh…" He makes a break for it and runs away. He gets about six feet before Sam catches up and has him in a headlock.

"I'm sorry!" he shrieks. "Just let me go!"

Sam smiles evilly. "Just so you know," she whispers into his ear menacingly. "I will never, ever-" She stops. "Ever…" She stops again and looks at his face, which is extremely embarrassed and betrayed, looking like he wants to die.

"I can't do it," she finally says, and lets go of his head, sliding down onto the sidewalk, stunned.

He straightens his collar, his face blood red with humiliation, and seems to debate for a minute. Then he crouches down next to her, but carefully not close. "Do what?"

"Shoot you down," she says brutally without looking at him. "I can't do it."

"It's not like you've had much trouble before," Freddie points out.

"I know," she says. "You're too pitiful now, though."

"Gee," he says.

"I've been trying all week to get you to admit it." She picks at her nail.

Freddie takes a deep breath. "I noticed."

Tension.

"I, uh, didn't want you to find out like that," he finally ventures. "I… didn't want you to find out at all, actually."

"Yeah, I can understand that." Sam looks at him and he looks away.

"Um… I suppose you don't want anyone finding out," he continues. "I don't really either, I won't mention it again." He stands up and takes a couple steps backward. "I'll stop, uh, or whatever."

Sam thinks that it's pretty ironic that Freddie has agreed to leave her alone mere seconds after she came to terms with the fact that she kinda likes him.

"Um, I'm sorry," Freddie continues. "For, I don't know, taking up your time."

Sam blinks. "What?"

"Bye," he says and turns around, starting the walk back to his apartment.

Sam feels like she just stepped on a puppy.

"Fredward," she calls after him in a whiny voice. He turns, barely, adjusting the strap on his book bag. He looks like he's itching to just run out of her sight.

She thinks of all the movies she's watched and reflects that now is the time to run up, say a cheesy line, and kiss him. Then they can walk back to the apartments hand in hand, laughing and talking as the credits roll and whatever song that was number one on iTunes last month will start playing.

Sam also reflects that she really hates those type of movies.

"So, what?" she asks loudly as Freddie shuffles his feet awkwardly. "You're just giving up?"

Freddie glares, which is nothing new, but it's different at the same time. "I get it." He turns around again. "I'm a wimp, or whatever."

Sam stands up. "Why are you giving up?"

He keeps walking.

She follows him. "You didn't exactly give up on Carly the first time she rejected you."

He walks straight ahead, eyes still and not even glancing at her.

"You're Freddie!" she says, poking him in the stomach. "You don't give up! You never give up! You don't even know what 'a lost cause' means! You-"

"Why do you _care_?" Freddie yells, grabbing her shoulders and shaking them. A man on his cell phone walking by gives them a strange look, but they don't notice.

She looks at him but can't conjure words to express what she's feeling. They stand like that for at least a minute as people getting off of work hurry home around them; it's embarrassing and awkward and it's killing him and even her a little to be there, but they stand their ground.

"When you liked Carly," Sam finally starts out slowly, "It was annoying and everything, but I kept imagining, like, what I would do if I were her. I thought that I would be able to shoot you down better than she could, so that you'd never bother me, or her, or whatever again." She looks at Freddie and hopes he's understanding her. His eyebrows are raised and he doesn't look like he is. "Oh, and on a kinda related note, now the opportunity comes up, more or less, and I just can't do it! If I close my eyes I can think of forty humiliating ways to do it, but now, like, actually looking you in the face, my brain, it just… nothing! Thanks a lot!"

"Because I'm too pathetic," Freddie supplies sarcastically, quoting her earlier.

"Sure," she says, and regrets rambling. "But, anyway, I dunno, maybe I wasn't jealous of her position to easily torment you, maybe I was jealous of the fact that someone even liked her enough to not take no for an answer."

Freddie glances briefly to his left and back to Sam again, confused. "Um… so are you saying… yes?"

Sam scratches her ear and ignores the lady trying to get past her. "I'm saying," she says, "I don't think you like me that much in the first place."

He contemplates this. "This _could _be true," he says slowly, not looking like he means it.

"Could be?" Sam repeats. "I didn't even say no and you gave up."

Freddie looks like he really, really wants to argue, but he just rolls his eyes. "So you're not saying no and you're not saying yes," he checks.

"Pretty much," she agrees awkwardly.

"What if," he proposes, "we just… try out some 'relationship' stuff and see if it feels weird. Like, we don't have to commit or anything," he says, knowing Sam doesn't really like to commit, "just, y'know...?" Freddie scratches his neck self-consciously.

Sam isn't sure she's ready for that, especially with Freddie. "It'll feel weird," she says with utmost sincerity. "No."

He kisses her in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Did that feel weird?" Freddie asks with a somewhat strained straight face.

"It was nauseating." She smirks, grabs his hand, and starts the walk back with him. He follows, stumbling, a bit stunned.

* * *

**aw, you guysssss. i had like seven more favs again after a day. ^^  
anyway, this didn't turn out exactly the way i hoped, but it's alright.  
i also do realize that at first sam's all 'i don't wanna go up, say a cheesy line, kiss him, and walk back hand in hand,' and that's, um, kinda what ended up happening, but idk. there's a reason *cough excuse cough* like irony or something... ugh i'm zonked out on painkillers cuz i hit myself on the mouth with a neon orange flashlight while i was trying to be all cool and flipping it in the air but then my braces cut open the inside of my mouth and i started spitting blood and LONG STORY SHORT I AM IN PAIN.**

**okay. the next and final chapter is my favorite. :) i'll probably have it up by tomorrow if i survive the mother's day brunch my mom wants to take me to. D:**


	9. Gibman

Gibby doesn't know how to play Go Fish.

Sam finds this absolutely horrible. "How do you _not_ know how to play it?" she demands. "_Everyone _knows how to play it!"

"I just never really got around to learning," he admits, and wonders if the teacher would notice if he just left study hall. Probably not. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Who doesn't know how to play Go Fish?" Sam tirades to Freddie, who's sitting next to her on the floor by the wall.

"I don't," Freddie says casually. Gibby holds up his hand for a hi-five. Freddie doesn't see it. Gibby drops his hand awkwardly.

Sam's jaw drops. "Oh, my God." She speedily deals six cards into each of three piles. "Look, the object of the game is to get the most sets you can."

"A set is two, right?" Gibby asks, grudgingly scooting closer to them.

"I thought four," Freddie says, picking up his cards curiously. "Can we look at our cards?"

"Duh," Sam answers. "And we're playing so that a set is four. Okay, so you're trying to get four of each card, get it? And since I have two threes," she holds up the two cards for the boys to see, "I'mma ask Gibby if he has any threes. Have any threes, Gibby?"

Gibby scrutinizes his cards. "Can I lie?"

"No," Sam says.

"Okay, then I don't have any threes."

"I said you can't lie, Gibby."

"I know, I don't have any threes."

"But-" Sam starts, but leaves it. "Okay. So Gibby doesn't have any threes, so I 'go fish.'" She reaches for a card from the draw pile.

"Okay," Freddie says, "I'll go. Sam, do you have any threes?"

Sam blinks. "You can't ask for a number that you don't already have at least one of, nub."

Freddie shows her his own two threes. She slaps her cards on the cheap carpet floor and he grabs them willingly. "Okay, so I have a set, what do I do?"

"Put it down on the floor and go again," Sam glares.

"Oh. Well, this is easy. Gibby, do you have any Aces?"

Gibby pauses. "I think so. Is this an Ace?" He shows Sam and Freddie a seven of diamonds.

"No, Gibby," Freddie says as Sam stares.

"Okay, then no," Gibby takes a sip from his lemonade. "Go fish."

Sam sighs.

Gibby eventually gets bored, quitting the game and opting to stare out the window instead, dreaming of kittens with three legs. He finds them cuddly. When he tunes back into his friends' conversation, they're still playing Go Fish. He listens without turning around.

"Freddie, do you have any Jacks?"

"Go fish."

"You liar! You just asked me for a Jack like three turns ago!"

"No I didn't."

"Yeah, you did!"

"Sam…"

"Freddie!"

"I don't have a Jack!"

"Fine! Go!"

"Fine! …Ohh."

"What?"

"Nothing. …Sam, do you have any Jacks?"

"_What_?"

"I, uh, just found it…"

"Nub!"

"It's not my fault!"

Gibby turns back to watch the fight and blinks, startled. Sam is more or less in Freddie's lap with his arm around her shoulders. Both of them have their cards turned completely away from each others eyes, however. If he wasn't hearing their fight, Gibby would've thought they looked extremely comfortable.

"Yes it is!" Sam continues. "That Jack's mine!"

"I didn't see it!" Freddie yells in disbelief, in contrarty to his arm pulling in Sam closer. "Besides, you took those fives from me!"

"What, was I going to let you cheat just because I forgot you got to go again?" Sam complains, not even seeming to notice she's using the person she's yelling at as a pillow.

"That's _really_ not my fault!"

"You should've let it slide!"

Freddie rolls his eyes, popping a strawberry from a random bag in his mouth. "Okay, fine. I'm sorry. Sam, do you have any twos?" he asks diplomatically.

"No," Sam says, eating a strawberry of her own. "Do you have any Jacks?"

Freddie looks like he's holding back a rant and throws the card in her face. "Happy?"

"Never," she says cheerfully.

"Good," he says, and she leans her head on his shoulder.

Gibby wonders what exactly he's missed.

* * *

**the end. D:**

**i kinda like this story, really. this chapter's my fav, mainly because i have this weird fetish with girls leaning their heads on guys' shoulders, and part just because the whole go fish thing turned out alright.**

**okay, random ramblings in list form:  
1- i survived mother's day brunch! woo!  
2-OMG ALL OF YA'LL. YOU ARE SO AWESOME. I HAD TWO PAGES OF FAVS/REVIEWS/STORY ALERTS ON MY EMAIL. ^-^ THANK YOU!  
3- i don't know why, but i have this story saved as 'oh, right,' in my documents. just realized that now. odd title.  
4- i'm texting some guy right now and i was like: haha u suck. and he said: 'suck what?' me: ...lollipops. him: i like lollipops. :) especially the green kind.  
we're getting him tested.  
5- i'm going to continue 'liar,' by the way. a little confused about how it's all going to lay out, but i'm getting there.  
6- evening wordcount to 1,000.**


End file.
